


what the water gave me

by wartransmission



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Drowning, Gen, One Shot, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-10
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-03-17 06:01:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3518090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wartransmission/pseuds/wartransmission
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Had he been any more conscious than he was, he thinks he’d have contemplated death. He’d have laughed himself silly, thinking something like, /“Of course, the one and only Flame Alchemist would die by drowning. Of course.”/ But darkness and colors fuzzy under his eyelids keep him from actually thinking coherent thoughts, so he doesn’t.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what the water gave me

**Author's Note:**

> Post-Brotherhood UA, where Roy is the Führer and Ed is his sort-of bodyguard. This is more or less just me trying to get a grasp of Roy's character, which is actually pretty fucking hard to do hahaha. Still, I hope you guys like it a bit!

He remembers cold. Seeping cold, wrapping all over him, wet and suffocating and _dark_ ; he remembers a familiar voice yelling for him, remembers panic and fear clouding his senses, until it was over.

Had he been any more conscious than he was, he thinks he’d have contemplated death. He’d have laughed himself silly, thinking something like, “ _Of course, the one and only Flame Alchemist would die by drowning. Of course._ ” But darkness and colors fuzzy under his eyelids keep him from actually _thinking_ coherent thoughts, so he doesn’t.

Everything is quiet, and dark, and nothing. If he were any more coherent, awake, _alive_ , perhaps he’d have felt panic at the state he was in. Perhaps he’d have wondered, worried about his life, and the life of his subordinates who he’d brought along because he didn’t have a _choice_ \- being the Führer meant no privacy, no sense of complete safety because there would always ( _always_ ) be someone against him who’d want him dead.

He breathes, and he tastes the scent of _hospital_ in his mouth.

Belatedly, he realizes that he can actually _think_ now. Wonder of wonders.

“You _bastard_ ,” he hears, the voice rough and croaky and oddly familiar, though he can’t place it yet. Everything is still hazy- and _achy_ , there’s that too. He can barely keep his wits together through the smell and feel of hospital bed and hospital sheets on his skin, through the burning and strain of his every breath, though he manages.

Somehow. He thinks it has something to do with the panic bubbling in the back of his head, some fragments of his instincts (screaming for survival, for _life_ ) piecing themselves together as he breathes.

“I know you can hear me. I know you’re _awake_ , Mustang,” the voice tries again, high-pitched but soft in a way that ensures the sound isn’t booming in his ears. “I can’t believe you have a legitimate excuse not to finish your paperwork now. You fuckin’ _asshole_ , of course you’d do this just so you can get out of your job. Can’t have picked something easier, huh?”

Had he been awake, he’d have said, “It would be highly unlike me to choose the easy path. wouldn’t it?”

(Because the easy path would mean more sacrifices, more pain dealt to other people, and he strove to become Führer to _avoid_ exactly that. Things would never be easy being the ruler of the country, and that was what he’d always expected even before he came to his current position.

He still had a debt to pay to his people, after all.)

Yet he’s not quite conscious yet, so he remains silent. The voice goes on, undeterred by his unresponsiveness, “You could have at least done _something_ less panic-inducing. I told you not to make Hawkeye worry, didn’t I? Bang-up job you did there; you not only made Hawkeye worry, you made _everyone_ worry. Bastard.”

His eye twitches. He can _feel_ it this time- and it seems his companion noticed as well, because he laughs.

It’s…a beautiful laugh. How strange.

(Strange, because he doesn’t think he’s had his presence graced with this kind of laugh before. He _knows_ this voice, and he _knows_ the kind of laughter that usually comes out from his mouth, and it’s not this.)

“You’re _awake_ , I knew it,” the voice says, triumph clear enough in his tone that he can feel the grin even without seeing it. “Took you long enough. Was that all it took to wake you? I just had to piss you off until you woke? Hawkeye should have called me sooner, there’s no one else better at this job than me.”

Well. He thinks he knows the owner of that voice, now. He should have known, really.

Who other than Fullmetal would be capable of irritating him while he’s unconscious in a hospital bed, anyway?

Ah. Not _Fullmetal_ anymore, was it? It’s just Edward now. The almost-drowning has certainly done a round on him, for him to forget such a thing.

He hears the scraping of metal on tiles and imagines Edward pulling a chair out for himself, before sitting down with a thump and a clear _thunk_ of his automail leg on the tiled floor. “I called a nurse so you’ll just have to…keep lying down, I guess. They’ll know what to do with you. In case you don’t remember yet, you almost _drowned_ , then you got a fucking concussion on top of that because you hit your head on the way down.”

Ah. That explains the throbbing in his head.

“What a way to go, huh?” A breath, then he feels warmth somewhere to his right, pressing close to his arm, and-

That’s Edward holding onto his wrist, isn’t it?

(Things just keep getting stranger and stranger; he’s starting to doubt that he’s really _awake_ , at this point.)

“They already checked on you earlier- I don’t know if you remember, you were pretty out of it- and they said that there wasn’t any brain damage. You better be fucking thankful that I didn’t let you drown, you idiot.” He scoffs, then adds, “But I guess you’d just tell me that it’s my job, huh? I should’ve kept you safe. What’s the point of a bodyguard who can’t even keep you from drowning, anyway?”

He shifts, feels the ache in his head and chest when he tries to move. Ed squeezes around his wrist and he tries to twitch a finger, if only to let him know that he’s awake, he’s fine, he’s still _alive_ and breathing, and he didn’t fail in keeping him safe.

His index finger twitches. He thinks he hears Edward laugh and, strangely, finds himself wanting to open his eyes to see just how he looks.

 _Slowly_.

(He’s so _tired_.)

(But he has to wake up sometime, won’t he? He has to. He still has a job to do.)

He blinks bleary eyes open, just in time to catch a glimpse of Edward’s smiling face. He catches himself thinking, a little too late to stop the train of thought, that it’s fortunate that he’s in one of the windowed rooms facing the setting sun, giving him a good view of a smiling Edward in sunset hues.

He winces, and Edward grins, likely attributing the wince to the aches in his body from having almost-drowned and hit his head. Ed’s not quite _wrong_ but he’s not completely right either, because half the reason for that wince was because he’d almost caught himself thinking that Edward looks attractive.

Edward is handsome, he can acknowledge that much, but it’s a completely different story to think that Edward is attractive enough that he wants to just _watch_ him.

_Stop. Don’t even go there._

“Want some water?” Ed suggests, scooting his chair closer until he’s right by his side and interrupting his dangerous line of thought. His touch is warm, a contrast to how it had been when his one hand was metal, when he helps him sit up. “Much as I know that you’re sick of water after what happened, you’re still gonna need it to keep yourself hydrated.”

He coughs, a hand scratching at his throat, and Edward grabs a cup. He nods his head in thanks and accepts the full cup of water, before taking slow and careful sips to wet his mouth and throat. “Thanks,” he murmurs once he’s done, voice hoarse when he hands the cup back to Ed, who sets it down on the bedside table right by him.

Edward shrugs. “You’re welcome.” Then he grins, wicked and sly, and a headache nudges at the edge of his consciousness- a little less because of his head injury, and a little more because of Ed looking like (for lack of a better word) a complete _brat_.

Ed says, “Think you’re okay enough to work now?“

He smiles wryly, says despite the still-lingering hoarseness in his voice, “Unfortunately, and as much as I’d like to sign the great amount of paperwork piling up on my desk, I don’t think my mind and body are quite up to par yet to do any office-related tasks.”

Ed raises an eyebrow. “And non-office-related tasks?”

“Well.” He smiles a little bit wider, not enough to show teeth but enough to let Edward know that he won’t put up with any trifles even in his weakened position, “That would depend on what kind of task you’d like to set up for me. I can’t spar with you yet if that’s what you wish, but I think I’m capable enough for other less strenuous activities.” He cocks his head. “Like activities that involve my bed.”

Ed blinks.

And blinks.

Then _blushes_ , before spitting out, “The fuck are you trying to imply, Mustang? That’s harassment!”

He shrugs, tries not to feel the strain in his chest when he sighs and says, “I didn’t say anything wrong, Edward. You were the one who assumed that I was implying something.” He smiles again, and- somehow- the blush on Edward’s face deepens in its hue. “It is curious, isn’t it? How age brings about more awareness regarding these things?”

“The fuck does that have to do with anything,” Ed grumbles, before cutting himself off and looking up when he hears the sound of the door swinging open. A nurse comes in, shapely and blonde and pretty, offering them both a smile before heading over to his side- the side unoccupied by Ed- and checking on his eyes and his vitals.

“You’re doing well, Mr. Mustang,” she says once she’s done, smiling sweetly still even as she finishes jotting things down on her clipboard. “No signs of lasting injuries, though you may get some headaches every now and then. You had a grade 3 concussion, though thankfully it didn’t worsen.  You’re very lucky that you have such efficient subordinates.”

“Quite,” he agrees with a nod, offering her one of his charming smiles. She blushes just as soon as lets his lips curl upwards, and he stifles a grin. He’s got some grays in his hair but it would seem he’s still got it, hasn’t he?

“Anything else?” Ed asks, a would-be perfect picture of professionalism had it not been for the irritated downturn of his mouth. “I’ll be keeping watch over him, so I need to know if there’s something I need to keep note of. How long will he be staying for?”

“Oh,” the nurse blinks, though she quickly gathers her wits when she answers, “It’ll only be one more day before he’s released; we still need to keep him under observation, just to be sure. Also, you just have to make sure that he doesn’t worsen his condition by doing anything strenuous, like running or any form of exercising. His lungs are still recovering, so it’d be best if he just rested for now. You can call on us again.” she says with a little hand-wave to the button beside his bed, “if there are any problems.”

Ed nods at that, says, “Got it,” before turning to him with a sly grin. “No strenuous activities, Mustang. Seems like exercise is included, huh?”

He gives Ed a withering look, letting it last for only a millisecond before he offers a thankful smile to the departing nurse. He lets the smile drop as soon as she’s gone, before sighing and resting his head back on his propped up pillow.

“Tragic, ain’t it? Seems like you can’t have any lady-visitors to keep you entertained,” Ed says, amusement practically _dripping_ from his voice when he speaks. Had Roy been any more immature, he’d probably have _throttled_ Ed for being so irritating.

He tries not to roll his eyes and only barely succeeds at the attempt. “Truly unfortunate,” he murmurs with a soft sigh, before turning his head to smirk at Edward. “Good thing I have you, isn’t it?”

Ed rolls his eyes in reply, folding his arms over his chest as he leans back into his chair. “If you’re thinking of using me as your entertainment, don’t. I’ll kick your ass if you try anything.”

“You’re far too defensive, Edward,” he says, holding both hands up in surrender to Ed’s accusations. “Much as I know how entertaining you can be when you’re angry,” at this, Edward’s eye twitches, earning a quiet sort of laughter from him, “that’s not what I meant when I said it.”

Ed raises an eyebrow at that, looking adorably confused when he frowns and scrunches his nose.

_Oh, no._

“Then what?” Ed asks.

“I just meant that I’m glad to have your company,” he says with a shrug, choosing to be honest- partly because he’s a little too tired to weave deceptive lines around Ed, and partly because he owes it to him. Ed _did_ save his life after all, if he remembers correctly. “You were the one who saved me, weren’t you?”

Ed blinks, a little like he’s surprised that he mentioned it. “I…yeah. I did. The others called an ambulance while I pulled you out of the water and…y’know.” He clears his throat, looking awkwardly away as he scratches at his cheek. “Did the usual thing you do when you save someone from drowning.”

“CPR, you mean,” he says point-blank, smiling an amused smile when Ed makes a face at him. “Nothing to be embarrassed about, Edward. It doesn’t count as a kiss when you did it to save me, does it?”

“That’s not- I didn’t-” Ed sputters, shades of red painting itself on his face as he straightens up in his seat, “I’m _not_ embarrassed about that, that’s fucking stupid.” He huffs, seemingly having made a decision to himself as he re-folds his arms over his chest and swings a leg over his automail one, “I saved you, that’s all. It’s not an issue.”

“I never said it was,” he says, amused still as he shifts up to sit more comfortably on his bed. “But, well. Thank you again.”

Ed waves a hand at that, looking a cross of embarrassed and unconcerned for the show of appreciation, “S’my job. And…” he trails off, the look on his face smoothing out to become a thoughtful expression, “…I can’t let you die yet. Your job as the Führer still isn’t done.” Ed grins and he can’t help a smile, Ed’s optimism far too contagious than is probably healthy for him- but he’ll take it anyway, because what bad could it do to keep hoping and striving for good things for the sake of his people?

He tilts his head in acknowledgement of Ed’s words, and lets his smile soften. He catches a flicker of surprise and something like pleasure on Ed’s face before it fades into a cheeky grin, and he says, the relief and hope felt in his voice,

“I suppose not.”


End file.
